


The More We Accelerate

by J (jaywright)



Category: Masters of Sex
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 11:06:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19811008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaywright/pseuds/J
Summary: "Tonight," she tells him, "I'm going to touch you."





	The More We Accelerate

**Author's Note:**

> irredeemable smut. set late S2, and I haven't watched past that yet, so apologies for any errors in canon.

It's Dr. Holden who pulls up to the hotel that night. Some nights it's not. Some nights, it's Bill, frustrated and unable to keep up any pretense, focused solely on getting to their room, getting his hands on Gini's skin. 

Tonight, though, the facade is intact. Gini can tell just from the efficiency in the way he parks, the brisk and businesslike gathering of his bag from the seat beside him, the lack of any pause between pulling the car into its space and making his way towards the door. It's a role he plays, an act he puts on like any of his others, and she watches him carefully from the window of their room, her drink cool and just beginning to sweat cold drops onto her fingers.

There have been plenty of other nights when she would join him in the bar, make her way downstairs in a different dress than the one she wore to work that day, her hair done up just a little differently, and there might be just a moment when he'd look up to catch her there and give her a soft secretive smile, when they would be Dr. and Mrs. Holden, sharing a drink and the news of the day before the act faded and they were just Bill and Gini again, unable to keep the conversation on anything but work for more than a few minutes.

Instead, she settles into one of the chairs at the table, and she waits.

Half her attention is on the notes she's reviewing to kill the time, but the other half is on the time itself, the slow passage of her first drink, her second, counting out how many he might be having downstairs. The sound of the key in the lock comes earlier than she expects, and she swallows the last sip from her glass, tucks her folders away, and is waiting attentively when the door opens.

"Bill," she greets him.

He leans back against the door as he closes it, setting his bag down beside him, taking a moment to look her over. "Virginia." He looks like he's going to say something else, so she shifts in her chair, straightening almost imperceptibly, just enough to make his mouth snap shut.

"Come here," she says. He's across the room in seconds, standing in front of her, hands not quite reaching for her. "I have plans for you tonight."

His lips part again, but he doesn't say anything. She can see the desire and trepidation warring behind his carefully blank expression, and it's intoxicating to know that she already has him right where she wants him. Slowly, almost like a challenge, he lowers himself to his knees in front of her, and even though it wasn't part of her plan, the sight makes her catch her breath with want.

"Oh," she breathes out, and reaches a hand to touch the curve of his jaw. He closes his eyes, leaning into her touch, pressing his face to her hand, already so needy, and there is a part of her that wants to let her legs drop apart, let his hands slide up her thighs, let him bury his face against her and make her come again and again. Instead, she crosses her legs, letting a thumb brush soothingly over the beginnings of stubble along his cheek. "Not tonight, Bill," she says.

The look he gives her might be disappointment, but it fades almost immediately as she slides her hand down to his throat, tilting his head up to look at her, her fingers tugging just lightly at the hair on the back of his neck, a warning, a promise. 

"Tonight," she tells him, "I'm going to touch you."

There's a spark of devilry behind his expression as he looks at her almost calmly. "That's all?" he asks.

"Did I say that was all? You didn't let me finish."

"Well?" he prompts. "What else, then?"

She shrugs. "Guess you'll have to wait to find out, since you're so impatient." She pulls his hair again, jerking him a little back toward the bed. "Go." She nods toward it, and he nearly stumbles over himself trying to get up. He's flustered as he settles onto the edge of it, his fingers smoothing out invisible creases in the blankets, not knowing what to do with his hands, with his eyes, and she lets him wait for longer than he'd like, letting an edge of frustration creep into his expression before she unfolds herself carefully from her chair and crosses to him.

She could undo his tie efficiently, as she has so many times before, but instead she unties it slowly, letting her fingers linger there against his throat, smoothing her hands down over the untied ends of it, then goes to work on his buttons, so slowly, his eyes on every movement. She can see him wanting to hurry her along, to say her name impatiently, but as she moves lower, she can practically feel the impulse leaving him, feel him surrendering to whatever is happening, whatever it is that she wants of him.

She smoothes the shirt off his shoulders and he helps her shrug it off him, her hands mapping out the shape of his arms, his sides, his chest through his undershirt. His pants are next, undoing them with tantalizing movements, not quite touching him through them, but letting the backs of her fingers brush there, just a hint of sensation that doesn't have him hard yet, but makes his breath stutter out as he watches.

She drops to her knees to undo his shoes, and it's somehow less erotic than seeing him like this for her, but also more so, because he's watching her with such intensity, almost desperation. It isn't a position they use often, Bill preferring to stretch out on the bed when her mouth is on him, to see her bending over him, to reach out to touch her as her lips work him over, so it's less charged than him on his knees for her, but he still shivers at the feeling of her hands sliding down his legs as she pulls his pants off him.

She stays there for a moment, looking up at him, and he raises his eyebrows at her. "You said," he reminds her, "you were going to touch me."

"I am." She shifts a little, letting a hand drift down to press between her own legs, feeling the pressure building there and hearing him draw in a breath sharply as she touches herself, looking up at him.

She doesn't make herself come, just teasing herself, enjoying the way his breath goes unsteady as he watches her, and eventually she stretches luxuriously, standing and letting her hands fall to his shoulders. He stares up at her like he would give her anything in the world that she could ever possibly ask for, and when she pushes him backward, he falls almost bonelessly, like it's a relief to not have to be in charge of what his body is doing anymore. 

She settles in beside him, and her hands roam across him through his undershirt and shorts, not sensual or teasing, just soothing, flat and warm and feeling some of the tension seep out of his muscles. Removing his clothes is almost an afterthought, with barely any participation from him, and by the time he's sprawled there across the bed, she can see that he's hard for her. She ignores it, letting her hands still coast across his skin, eventually giving his hip a little slap and nudging him to flip over onto his front.

He groans as he readjusts, his hips pressing almost unconsciously into the bed until her fingers grip against his hipbone, holding him steady, and he lets out a low frustrated sound into the sheets.

"You can," she tells him, "you can come by humping the bed like some teenager, if you want. I won't stop you."

"No," he grumbles. "I won't, but for god's sake, Virginia…"

"Hmmm?" she replies idly, her hands continuing their exploration of him, his back, the backs of his legs, his sides, and whatever additional objections he has fade off into a low satisfied groan. Her fingers dig into the muscles of his buttocks, and his hips twist down against the sheets again. It's something she usually only does when they're fucking, touching him there, and she knows the sensation is making him think of being buried in her, of her fingers gripping onto him, urging him on. 

"I'm going to touch you, Bill," she tells him, and he's nodding into the bed before she's even finished with the words, his hips tilting up to let her reach under him, and she is almost certain that the breath he lets out sounds like " _please_." 

"No," she says, letting a hand slide gently and soothingly up and down his back as she shifts toward the head of the bed, reaches into drawer of the bedside table. "Not like that. Not yet."

The sound he makes might be a whimper, and he shifts to reach one of his own hands down toward himself, but she drops the tube from her hand and grabs his wrist, pulling it over his head and holding it steady. "Bill," she says warningly, and he stills. "You're not going to touch yourself."

"I could," he says, the defiance almost entirely overshadowed by the desperation.

"You could," she agrees, "but instead, you're going to keep your hand where I put it. You're going to keep," she continues, and reaches across him for his other wrist, pulling it into a matching position, "both hands where I put them."

He practically sobs into the sheets. "Virginia…"

"And I," she says, retrieving the tube and slicking her fingers, feeling them slowly warming as she rubs them together, "am going to touch you."

Her other hand is warm and sure against his buttocks, smoothing over his skin the same way she had before, but now his fingers are tangling into the sheets, staying just where she put them, his chest heaving as he breathes frantically. 

"I'll stop," she tells him. "If you don't like it. If you don't want me to keep going, you tell me."

"I - " he says, and part of her thinks it's going to be over right there, but he pauses instead, drawing in a ragged breath. "I'll tell you."

"Good," she tells him, letting her hand press to the small of his back, holding him steady, feeling the way something in him relaxes at the word. "Good, Bill."

Her fingers are warm and slick as they tease him, and she can see the way his hands tighten into the sheets, feel the way he presses back against her, his curiosity outweighing any nervousness he might have. She teases him for so long that he's rocking against the bed again, arching his back under her steadying hand, finally gasping out, "For Christ's sake, Virginia," before she slides a finger into him.

It's slow, careful, and she can feel all the breath leave him in a shuddered rush before he gasps it back in, leaning into her touch experimentally, and when she curves her finger, he lets out a strangled sound, his whole body shaking. "Oh," he breathes out, " _oh_ ," and he pushes himself back insistently into her touch, testing it, experimenting.

She fucks him slowly, so carefully, watching him utterly lose himself in the sensations. She can see him taking notes in his head at first, but eventually he's forgotten to keep his hands where she put them, instead curling them around his head, bracing himself on the bed, fucking himself back against her hand, all intellectual inquiry forgotten.

"Please," he gasps out finally, "I'm - Virginia, I - "

"You can come like this," she says, half asking him, half giving permission, and he lets out a helpless groan.

"I could," he confirms, "but I want...please…" and he lets out a low sound of disappointment as she draws her fingers from him.

He's shaking as he rolls over, utterly undone, his eyes and hands frantic as they roam over her body. She's still in her dress, having completely forgotten it in the heady rush of breaking him to pieces with her hands, and her own fingers are trembling as she wipes them on the bed and undoes her underthings, stripping them off as quickly as she can before slinging a leg over him.

She's so wet, so ready, and they let out matching groans as she sinks onto him, leaning down over him to press her face to his neck, not able to keep from kissing his skin, his hands all over her through her dress. He lets his hands settle to her waist and fucks up into her desperately, gasping out something that might be words against her ear, but she can't pay attention, can't focus on anything but the feeling of him inside her, his hands on her, the friction of his body against her clit.

She could come first, could let herself go at any moment, but it's been so long since they timed it together, so she mouths a countdown against his skin and feels him shudder.

"Yes," he breathes out, his hips stuttering against hers, "please, now, Virginia - " She closes her eyes, rocks down against him, and they come together, explosions behind her eyes, her whole body shaking against him, his fingers leaving marks along her sides.

She rolls off of him almost reluctantly, but he stays wrapped around her, curling against her, his face hidden between her shoulder and the pillow, and she lets her fingers brush through his hair until his breathing is finally steady beside her.

"I did not expect," he admits, "to enjoy that," and she laughs, low and breathy.

"I expected you to," she says, enjoying the annoyed look that he lifts his head to give her. "You did," she continues, "enjoy it, didn't you?"

"Yes," he admits, grudgingly.

"I mean," she continues teasingly, "if you didn't, we can forget it ever happened and never do it again."

"No." His reply is too fast, too clipped, and she grins. "I mean," he clarifies, "I think...that this may require...further study."

She laughs. "Mmhm," she agrees. "Or, you know, any study. I don't know about you, but I certainly wasn't keeping notes tonight."

He taps his temple, giving her a half smile. "Some."

"Some," she agrees, and lifts her eyebrows. "But maybe not enough."

"Maybe." He drops his head again, curling tighter against her, and she can feel the tension starting to return to his muscles. "What made you think…" he asks, "that I might…?"

"You like me telling you what to do," she says, and she can feel him wanting to object, so she continues. "You like not having to make choices. You like being taken care of. You like...being able to let go, sometimes."

"That's not - "

"Look, we don't have to get into the psychology of it," she interrupts. "You asked, and I'm saying...I know what you like, Bill. Sometimes, I even know what you need."

He's quiet for a long time, until he presses a soft open kiss against her skin. "You do," he agrees.

"And right now - " she yawns hugely, "I think we both need sleep."

She waits for him to peel himself away from her, to get out of the bed and dress and pick up his bag, but instead, he curls closer, his hands firm against her skin. "Soon," he agrees, and she can feel his eyes flutter closed.

Soon, Dr. and Mrs. Holden will leave the hotel. They'll check out, give each other a chaste kiss goodbye at the door, and head to their separate cars, to their separate obligations. But now, for this moment, the bed is soft and warm, and there's a cool breeze coming in through the window, so just for now, just for a moment, Gini and Bill drift off to sleep together.


End file.
